Minuo Caelitus
by makalaseri
Summary: Draco Malfoy comes home for the summer after his fifth year at Hogwarts and discovers an ability that could save himself and the ones he loves from Voldemort. However, he must place his trust in someone he thought was his nemesis if he is to suceed.DMHP


MINUO CAELITUS

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling. I am only playing in her world. Please no legal action, this is not for profit only enjoyment.

RATING: M- for Mature: for violence, death, adult themes, occasional strong language, and slash.

Chapter One: Drop of Blood, Prick of Fate

Mother and I were seated at the table, just the two of us having dinner. I missed having father at dinner with us. People think that the Malfoys are cold and unfeeling. In public we are, but in private, that's a different story. Mother and father love to laugh and joke over dinner, particularly if father brings home amusing stories about that idiot Weasley from work.

Sometimes I'll throw in a story about one of his stupid children. Like the time the girl weasel tried to kiss me, and Pansy nearly took off her head with a well cast bat-wing hex. Mother found it particularly amusing whenever she was out shopping and saw Molly (or Rolly-Polly as she's known here) Weasley plucking through the used bin at Madame Malkin's or at Flourish and Blott's.

However, now that father is in Azkaban, there are no more amusing stories at dinner. The only sounds are the gentle clinking of crystal goblets and the scratching or fork and knife on china plates. Mother sat across from me looking pale and drawn. Her dinner mostly untouched and her wine glass constantly empty as she drained the contents at an alarming speed. "How were the last few days of school, Draco dear?" She asked watching a house elf refill her glass for the fifth time.

"Worse than usual, but Potter does seem to ruin things no matter what."

"Let's not discuss that dreadful boy anymore. When I think about him, I wish the Dark Lord had killed him when he was an infant."

"Don't we all." I muttered to myself.

I watched my mother as she upended her glass, her white swans' neck swallowing every drop. She set her glass down a bit unsteadily. "I think I will retire now," She murmured getting to her feet, swaying ever so slightly.

"Good night mother." I said as she came round the table to kiss the top of my head.

"Good night son." She sighed into my hair, "Good night."

I listened to her footsteps as she retreated down the hallway. Before she was out of hearing range, I heard her burst into tears. Her sobs echoed in my head long after I heard her bedroom door slam shut behind her. I clutched my knife in my hand so hard that my knuckles turned white, and then I plunged the knife into the roast sitting across from me. The house elf standing near me jumped and squeaked in alarm. I ignored it and pressed the blade deeper into the meat. How I wished Potter was here so I could plunge a knife into him, kill him for making my mother, for making me suffer like this.

My grip slipped on the handle and my thumb slid against the blade drawing blood. I hissed at the sharp and immediate pain, and brought the digit to my mouth. It was bleeding freely enough that as I brought it to my lips, several drops fell onto the expensive Venetian lace of the table cloth, onto my empty plate and a drop or two into my remaining glass of wine.

I sucked the wound peevishly as I added this to my every expanding list of reasons why I hate Harry Potter the boy-who-would-not-fucking-die. The coppery taste of blood wasn't entirely unpleasant, but not exactly pleasant either. As the bleeding let off, I reached for my wine glass then reconsidered. _You just bled in that, remember?_ A more fastidious part of my brain reminded me. "Yes, and I just had a mouthful of my own blood already." I growled at myself. Really, would a few more drops hurt anything? Besides, I reconsidered as I lifted the glass, it would be quite a shame to let a good merlot go to waste.

I stirred the glass in my hand, watching the dark claret of the wine swirl. As I lowered my nose to sniff the bouquet, I watched the moving liquid. For some reason I could not look away. I felt dizzy as I watched, my vision fogging. I dropped the glass, but it didn't fall, didn't spill. Everything stopped in that moment. The grandfather clock on the other side of the room ceased its ticking, the house elf, running to stop the glass from breaking, froze in mid-stride.

Then I was falling, falling into redness, falling further and further until I stopped, I hovered over a mirror and images appeared. I could do nothing but watch as they played before my eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Draco," His voice asked softly. His face hidden in shadow. I shake my head, refusing to tell him, but I want to so badly. I jump a little when his hand finds my face, cupping my cheek, thumb tracing my lips. "How can I comfort you if you don't tell me what is the matter?" His voice is a velvet whisper across my lips.

"_He_ contacted me again, and I'm afraid that he knows about everything." I admit unable to keep secrets when he is this close to me, when I can feel his breath on my face.

"He couldn't know. We've been practicing occlumency together. He is only being paranoid, trying to keep you his scared little slave." He whispers softly as rain on flowers, his thumb still tracing my mouth in maddening circles.

"How can you be sure?" I ask, hating the naked doubt and fear in my voice.

"Because I have faith in you, and because I have to believe that all of us will come out alright in the end."

"So reassuring," I mutter bitterly. "I don't have your faith, your ability to believe-"

He cuts off my words with a kiss of such tenderness I want to cry. "I have enough faith for both of us, Draco." He kisses me again and again until he lays me back on the floor and smiles softly at me in the gloom. "Please tell me you at least believe in me." He sighs lowering his body over mine, claiming my mouth again.

"Yes," I whisper, "Yes, I believe you." I answer him pulling him down for another kiss and another and another…

My wand trembles in my hand. I attempt a snarl, but I stand there frozen but for the shaking of my hand. The old man is so sure I'm not here to kill him, but I have to. What can I say in the face of his soft assurances, his kindly sparkling eyes? My mouth hangs open, and I find I can't do it. I can't say those two horrible words. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. But I have to kill him; he'll kill them if I don't. I have to… Oh gods… I have to…

Down the corridor, past the oblivious, sleeping paintings, I ran as fast as I could. I had to get away, but where could I go to escape him? I narrowly dodged a sleepy looking Mrs. Norris. Her bleary golden eyes glared balefully at me. She saw the silver prefect badge, and she had no right to stop me and slink off to find Filch. No, I couldn't afford to get caught by anyone tonight. My hand tightened convulsively around a locket. I had to keep it hidden, safe, away from everyone but him. _Oh gods, let him be there!_ I thought as my feet pounded down on slippery marble tiles, across ancient carpets smelling of times past, and up stairs that reached up into the very heavens. Finally, I reached the door. "Please be here… please," I whispered so very afraid, so very unsure. I took the handle in my free hand and opened the door…

Potter sprawled on the floor of Hogwarts express, my foot crashing down on his nose, blood blossoming across his face like a fantastic red flower…

"What is this?" I ask suspiciously as he hands me a package.

His smile is warm and his eyes light with humor. "Don't tell me that you've forgotten that today is your birthday."

I look up at him floored that he remembered when no one but my mother did. I feel my face grow hot beneath his warm gaze. "Of course I know what today is you stupid prat," I growl, not wanting him to see the touched amazement on my face.

"So you gonna open it, or are you gonna stare at the floor in a huff all day." He teases a great wide smile lighting up his face.

"Malfoys do not huff."

"Sure they don't."

"We do not huff."

"Like you don't flounce?"

"Flounce? How dare you. I never flounce."

"So that Saturday in Hogsmeade, when you were prancing about in your new dress robes, you weren't flouncing?"

I scowled at him, my look flashing daggers and promising a painful death.

His idiotic grin grew even wider. "Come on; open your present so we can get to work you huffing, flouncing little poof." He turned back to working on the broken hinge.

"I told you I do not huff or flounce."

"Ah, so you aren't denying being a poof?" He chuckled as he sent a wink my way.

"We all have our faults." I returned darkly.

He caught my eye and his expression became serious. "I never said that was a fault of yours. In fact, it's something I rather like about you."

What could I say to that? He went back to work, and I opened my present…

I opened my eyes and the glass full of wine fell and shattered on the table. The wine splashed up at me, soaking my shirt, spilling scarlet across the table cloth, crystal shards flying everywhere. The house elf shrieked in agony. "Bad Mitsy, bad," She cried out as she clobbered herself with the silver gravy boat. "Oh Master Draco! Mitsy is a bad house elf! She is so sorry sir! She will punish herself severely, yes she will."

"Never mind all of that." I growled, coming out of my daze, "Just clean up the mess."

"Yes sir, Master Draco, sir." She moaned as she began cleaning.

As soon a she'd magicked my shirt clean, I stood up and fled to my room. What the hell just happened? I thought as I fell back against my door. What the hell was all of that?

To be continued…

Well what did you think? Please drop a line and R&R. Criticism is very much appreciated.


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